A False Start
by kris allis
Summary: Jessica Woods awakens in a hospital on September 11, 2001 with amnesia and a bruised body. Her only living relative, Kathy Stockton has come to her recue. Will her memory return? The doctor says that she could remember at any time. Until then, whatever has happened to her remains a mystery. It is clear that her injuries have nothing to do with the attack on the World Trade Center.


A False Start

By Kris Allis

The woman driving the red sports car felt the bump and realized that she must have run over something. A quick glance in her rear view mirror confirmed her suspicions. What appeared to be a human body was lying in the street and traffic had stopped in the lane she had just traveled. Oh no! Did I hit that person? she asked herself. Terribly late for an appointment she'd already cancelled three times, she had tried to get through the intersection before the light turned red. She would have missed the appointment again if she had stopped. This couldn't be happening to her. If that person was dead and they caught her, she was in a world of trouble. She had to keep going. She glanced at the clock on her dashboard. They would not start looking for her right away so she made a turn a few blocks down and headed back up to the East side. Making the appointment was no longer an option. She had to get off this island as soon as possible. But where should she go? And then she knew. She kept hearing sirens, but decided that they couldn't be for her. It was too soon. If they were coming for her, they were going to have a chase on their hands; she was not going down easily. The traffic was worse than any day she'd been on the streets.

And why in the hell was the air so darn foggy? It was so heavy it almost looked like smoke. That was ridiculous. She turned the music up louder. She'd just gotten a new CD by Mary J Blige and she was singing, "Let's get it percolatin' while you waitin', so just dance for me." Percolating was exactly what needed to be done, but it was slow going. There was no break in the traffic, but at least it was moving. She kept hearing sirens, imagining a police car pulling her over any minute.

Three hours later, she crossed into Connecticut. She stopped for gas and when she went in to pay, the cashier was glued to the television. He was watching a news report, but she didn't have time to figure out what it was about. If he was watching news about her accident she had better get out of there. She put the cash on the counter and left without as much as a glance at the television screen. Hopefully, he was too engrossed in whatever he was watching to pay any attention to her. She got back on the road and headed deep into the state.

She finally stopped at the house where she'd spent most of her life with her grandparents. Her grandmother had died first, leaving her grandfather alone for the last ten years of his life. The BMW had been a surprise birthday gift nine months earlier, but her grandfather died before he could transfer the title. She didn't feel rushed to do it because he'd left everything to her anyway, including this fifteen acre semi-farm. So far, she had done nothing with the property. The barn was still in good shape; her grandfather had invested in a good sturdy barn door with an excellent locking apparatus just before he had the heart attack. She pulled her car inside, got out, took all of her belongings, and glanced at her beloved little auto one last time. She opened the storage cabinet, pulled out one of the automobile covers for her grandfather's old cars, and covered the red BMW. Then she locked away the only evidence of her crime.

The house still smelled like her grandmother. How was that possible? The woman had died over ten years ago. All of the furniture was covered, but the floors were clean and free of dust, thanks to Mabel, her grandparents' caretaker, who insisted on coming by once a week to make sure things were in order. A quick search of the cabinets in the kitchen was fruitless. The booze her grandfather had kept hidden behind the chafing dishes was gone. She sighed deeply and quietly slipped back outside, locking the door behind her. She'd been here long enough.

She had planned to buy a sports utility vehicle. Now was as good a time as any. She urgently needed another drink first. The accident and that long drive had been too much to bear without a good stiff drink or two. She truly hoped that the person was not dead. She shuddered at the thought of being on trial for vehicular homicide, leaving the scene of a crime, and drunk driving. She would have no defense and the judge would throw the book at her. No, she had done the best thing for everyone, herself included. Returning to the city, she would report the BMW stolen. She also made a mental note to establish an alibi as well. She'd done all that she could do. She pulled on her sweater and set out for the old McHenry farm to hitch a ride back to the city with Marvin. Marvin would be home. He probably wasn't drunk because it wasn't yet five o'clock. He had convinced himself that he wasn't a problem drinker because he didn't drink until after five, but he drank about as much as she did. If she rewarded him with a good bottle of scotch he'd forget all about wondering what she was doing out there without a car.

The leaves were beginning to fall and the pathway leading to the McHenry's property was covered with them. Hearing the crunch and feeling the crisp texture under her feet brought back many memories of a life long ago, when everything was still new and fresh and no one ever treated her differently because she was a female. When she was a little girl she had many friends, both boys and girls. No one warned her about it being a man's world.

Maybe she should give up her job, sell her condo, and move back here where life was simple. Just as quickly she decided that her grandparents' home was too big and vast and the liquor stores too far away. She'd probably get bored, and when she was bored she drank too much. In fact she drank too much when she felt any kind of emotion. Her chances of getting sober and staying sober were better in the city where her work distracted her. If God let her get away with this hit-and-run today, she would never put another drop of alcohol in her mouth. And that was a true story.

Designed by Minuru Yamasaki, a Japanese American, the twin towers of the World Trade Center were a symbol of world peace and a representation of man's belief in humanity. To Yamasaki the center had a bigger purpose than just providing rooms for tenants. Opened in 1970, both towers were a breathtaking sight, standing 110 stories high. More than five hundred businesses with at least fifty thousand employees called the place home. There was a shopping mall in the lower level and an outdoor plaza. Windows on the World, a restaurant on the 106th floor of the North Tower, had an observation deck providing breathtaking vistas on a clear day. The tour guides would recount that the buildings weighed more than 1.5 million tons, contained 194 passenger elevators, 43, 600 windows, 198 miles of heating ducts, 23,000 florescent light bulbs, and that the express elevator could reach the 110th floor in 4.8 minutes.

Felton Dade, a New York City police detective, had lived in New York for the past eleven years. He had come to the big city to live with his older sister when he was twenty-two and fresh out of the United States Air Force. He loved New York; the people, the food, the streets, the theater, and the skyline, dominated by the World Trade Center. Dressed casually in a Brooks Brothers brown jacket, khaki pants, white shirt, and no tie, his six-foot frame fitting comfortably in his Ford Explorer, he waited for the traffic to move. He had just crossed the Brooklyn Bridge on his way to work. He glanced in the mirror to make sure that he'd washed all the sleep from his light brown eyes. He was clean-shaven, not even a trace of stubble on his dark brown skin. He knew he was handsome, but tried to keep it to himself. His eyes were drawn to the North Tower and the smoke coming from the top of the building. He quickly tuned into a news broadcast. That's when the nightmare began.

"An airplane has just crashed into the World Trade Center North Tower. We are getting

reports of fire on the top floors and plenty of smoke."

Not again, he thought. Planes often flew low in the Manhattan skyline; it was probably an accident. He had continued slowly on his way to work, listening to the broadcast, and glancing up at the building from time to time. A few minutes later, his police radio squawked a report of a hit-and-run on Broadway. He wasn't too far away and traffic was turning into a parking lot to make way for emergency vehicles and fire engines headed for the Towers. Ordinarily, he didn't show up for hit and run accidents; his duties no longer required wearing a uniform or quick response to traffic accidents, but what the heck? He was close and the traffic wasn't moving. He could walk to the scene faster than he could drive. He'd pulled over to the curb, turned on his flashing lights, got out, and started walking.

Papers were flying in the air, dust was everywhere, and the air was getting a little smoky. He'd looked back again at the fire and smoke coming from the tower, as did most pedestrians. Some of them had stopped to describe the scene to persons on their cell phones; others used their phones to take pictures.

Arriving at the scene, Felton forced his way through the crowd in time to see people crowded around a person lying on the sidewalk. From his vantage point, he saw another woman lying in the street, obviously dead, her body mangled, her blond head bloody, and her face smashed beyond recognition. At that moment two cruisers and an ambulance arrived almost simultaneously.

"Get back! Everybody get back!" Felton yelled at the crowd, holding up his badge to

identify himself. One of the guys in the cruiser joined him, moving people away from the scene.

Another cruiser arrived and soon Felton and the other officers were canvassing the witnesses. Most claimed that a red sports car had sped through the intersection, running a red light. Depending on who was asked, the driver had been male or female, African American or white, and age twenty to forty. All agreed that the operator of the vehicle had not so much as slowed down. The woman in the street had never had a chance. The woman on the sidewalk had fainted in the process.

Minutes later, she was put into an ambulance. Her vital signs were good, so the attendants were directed to take her to New York Presbyterian Hospital.

"Has anyone notified next of kin?" Felton yelled out as the ambulance pulled away.

"It's on you, man," one of the officers replied, tossing a black leather purse to Felton.

He went through it and identified the woman as Jessica Woods. There was a slip of paper with a name and phone number on it. Felton dialed.

Sometimes the simplest thing can change a life forever. For Kathy Stockton it was a phone call. She sat at her desk in the room that was once her father's office, writing the date, September 11, 2001, on a check, when the ringing of the phone startled her. Her family had never appreciated unexpected calls, hence the non-published phone number. She glanced impatiently at the caller ID display and saw NYPD. This was not to be ignored.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Mrs. Stockton? Kathy Woods Stockton?"

"Yes, this is Kathy," she responded hesitantly.

"This is Detective Felton Dade of the NYPD. A young woman identified as Jessica B. Woods was taken by ambulance to the New York Presbyterian Hospital a few minutes ago. She had a piece of paper with your name, address, and phone number in her purse. Do you know this young lady?"

"My God is she hurt? What happened?" Kathy asked.

"Do you know her?" Detective Dade demanded again.

"Yes, I mean I've never met her, but she's my brother's widow. Has she been in an

accident? Has she been hurt?"

"Well, yes and no. Witnesses reported that she tried to save a woman from walking into the path of a car. Unfortunately, the woman died at the scene, and Mrs. Woods fainted and hit her head against the curb. Can you go to the hospital? You seem to be her only next-of-kin at the moment."

"Yes," Kathy replied. "I can be there in a few minutes."

"Thank you, Mrs. Stockton. Someone from the department will come round to talk to you later. Goodbye."

Felton headed back towards his car. News over the police radio indicated that the South Tower had been hit too and all injured would be going to the closest hospitals in the area. A thorough search by the other officers near the dead woman had produced no signs of a purse or any other identification. Felton had not gone near either woman. He'd been too busy with the crowd.

He was worried. He had not been able to reach his sister or his niece. Both women worked in the South Tower. He'd been in contact with his fellow officers by radio and learned that both Towers had collapsed while he was wrapping up the scene of the hit-and-run, accounting for the loud noise that they'd heard and the sudden onslaught of dust and paper in the air. He knew that all emergency vehicles and rescue units had been dispatched to the site. He also knew what he had to do. He had to get uptown and get the boys, Nathan and Justin. His niece, their mother would go there first if she was alright. If she wasn't…He didn't want to finish the thought. Her boys would be scared. The faster he could get to them the better.

Kathy hung up and just stood there for a moment, looking around the room. Everything was almost the same as when her father sat at the Louis XIV desk for the last time. The wood paneling, the wood floors, the books on the shelves and the wide doorway that led to the master bedroom remained unchanged, occupying the entire third floor of the family home. Kathy had added rose-colored bedding, window treatments, and carpet to create a more modern look. The master bathroom had been beautifully redone with marble everywhere. Renovating the rest of the house had been a major undertaking, but she'd done it. She now had a flawless kitchen of epic proportions with a full breakfast area. There were four floors in all, plus a finished cellar. It was easily one of the most prestigious brownstones on her Upper East Side block. What Kathy loved more than anything was the privacy the home afforded; in New York privacy was a privilege.

A natural redhead who'd opted for unique by wearing brown contacts to cover her obligatory green eyes, Kathy was very well preserved at age forty two. So much so that she could easily pass for thirty if one chose not to notice the crinkled wisdom around her eyes.

When she was worried or upset her brow wrinkled. It was wrinkled now. Jessica was in the hospital? She had just talked to her the day before. Jessica had told her that she would arrive in New York early this morning. Kathy knew that she had landed at LaGuardia on time, because the funeral director telephoned to inform her that he was at the airport and had met Jessica. Kathy had hoped to meet her sister-in-law at the airport, but Jessica had insisted on accompanying the mortician to the mortuary with her husband's ashes and then getting her own transportation to the family house. Had she gotten lost somewhere? Kathy shuddered. Troy Woods should have been there. It was just not a good time for him to be dead.

Troy Woods, Kathy's only brother, had been killed in a freak accident four days earlier while on the job. He was sixteen years her senior and they had not been close. Kathy had married and moved to Georgia while he called Texas home and they rarely saw each other, despite maintaining the family home in New York. He and Jessica married on impulse in Las Vegas on a Friday and two weeks later he was gone, just one day before he'd planned to bring his new bride to meet her.

Jessica had been due to arrive at Kathy's home any minute. A memorial service was to be held by the end of the week, and so far, no arrangements had been made. If only their mother were still alive; everything would have been taken care of by now in her usual quiet and efficient manner. Kathy sighed at the memory of her mother. She had been gone for fifteen years, but it still felt as if it had been yesterday that she'd filled the house with her presence.

Kathy grabbed her purse and a red jacket and took a quick glance in the mirror. The jacket clashed with the purple dress she was wearing, but she had no time to coordinate. Instead, she threw a black scarf over her shoulders and then headed down to the garage.

She sat in the car for minutes waiting to navigate into the traffic from her driveway. She couldn't help thinking that if Troy had brought his young wife home to New York to meet Kathy and the rest of the aunts, uncles, and cousins immediately, perhaps none of this would have happened. He might still be alive. Most people liked to think that when it was their time to go, it was their time to go, but Kathy felt that some people contributed to the timing of their departure.

She sighed, as she wished that she had gotten to know her brother better. By the time she was old enough to show any interest, he was out of the house. He and their father had argued a lot about Troy's lack of desire to follow his father's footsteps down Wall Street. Instead, he wanted to build things. Kathy vividly remembered the morning he left. Her mother cried all day and did not speak to their father for weeks. She blamed him at first, but, as time passed, everyone got over it. Troy came home for Christmas occasionally, but spent most of his time partying, so Kathy never had a chance to even talk to him. Now he was dead. Kathy never knew his friends, not to mention the women he dated. Certainly there was no reason for her to be surprised that she had no clue about the woman he'd chosen to spend the rest of his life with. A deep sense of loss and sadness was brewing on the inside. And now Jessica was hurt. When it rained, often it poured.

For Kathy, getting to the hospital proved to be extremely difficult. The traffic was heavier than usual and a never ending stream of police cars, fire trucks, and emergency vehicles clogged the streets. Something big must have happened. It took her forever to find a place to park near the hospital.

Inside she was asked to wait for the doctor in a small alcove just outside the double doors leading into the bowels of the emergency room, marked Authorized Personnel Only. Hospital personnel were running to and fro as if a time bomb were ticking. People were everywhere. Most of them were crying. Many of them looked scared.

"Are you waiting to see me?" a voice behind her suddenly asked. She turned to see a rather squat, comfortable looking, older gentlemen without a strand of grey hair, wearing a white lab coat and holding a clipboard in his hands.

"I'm Dr. Jennings Ford." He extended a hand to her.

"Kathy Stockton. I'm pleased to meet you, Dr. Ford. I'm Jessica Woods' sister-in-law. How is she?"

He smiled and guided Kathy away from the door, out of the way of a stretcher transporting a female covered in blood and dirt. Kathy wondered what could have happened to generate so much dust that it had infused the woman's hair and clothing.

"Witnesses say your sister-in-law tried to save a woman who stepped right into the path of an oncoming car. The woman was killed instantly and your sister-in-law literally passed out at the sight of it. It was a terrifying thing to witness, I'm sure."

"I can imagine. May I see her?"

His expression subtly changed. He seemed more serious now.

"Well, she is heavily sedated and is unconscious at the moment. Your sister-in-law has some bruises and tenderness to palpitation in the left upper quadrant of her abdomen. That suggests that she may have an injury to her spleen. Her blood pressure is a little elevated which is a good sign. We'd rather see it a little high than low. However, her injuries are so severe that we are sure that they did not come from fainting on the sidewalk. Allow me to be blunt, Mrs. Stockton. She is bruised all over her body, and the nature of these bruises is consistent with injuries from repeated beatings."

Kathy couldn't help but gasp. Somehow, Jessica had taken a wrong turn and landed in the middle of trouble. What could have happened?

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," the doctor continued. "It is a bit hectic here right now, given that we're beginning to see more and more victims from the World Trade Center, but I did want to take a look at her now to make sure she doesn't have more serious internal injuries."

"My goodness, by all means do whatever it takes to get her better and back on her feet. I will complete any paper work you need. I just want to help in any way that I can." Kathy could feel her level of emotional disturbance rising. And what did the World Trade Center have to do with anything?

"I'd also like to mention that it seems the blows were placed carefully, so that clothing would hide any injuries."

"How is that significant?" Kathy asked, her sense of dread added to the mix. None of this was making sense.

"Well, we see this type of abuse quite often, Mrs. Stockton. Is your brother with you?"

"No my brother is deceased. Jessica just flew in this morning from Texas for his

memorial services. She and I have never met."

The doctor raised his eyebrows. At that moment a young woman ran toward the automatic doors that led to the outside, screaming hysterically. Kathy briefly wondered what was going on with everyone, but immediately snapped her focus back to the doctor. If she was hearing correctly, this doctor thought that Troy had been abusing Jessica.

"You see, they were just recently married," she explained, somehow wanting to make sure the doctor understood that there were no ill feelings between Jessica and her brother. "He was killed in an accident before we could all be formally introduced."

"I see. Then your brother is likely not responsible for these recent bruises."

"I beg your pardon? Dr. Ford, how dare you insinuate that my brother would do anything to hurt his wife!" Kathy was indignant now. She didn't know her brother that well, but she did know that he wouldn't beat a woman. Their parents had taught him better than that.

"Please accept my apologies. As I said, we see this type of abuse very often, and more often than not it is the husband or a boyfriend who is responsible."

"Why don't you ask her who beat her?" Kathy snapped. She was completely dumbfounded. Had Jessica blamed Troy?

"We did, but she can't remember anything, not even her own name."

"What? You're telling me that she doesn't know who she is? What's wrong with her?"

"She has amnesia. I believe it's temporary, which is quite common after injuries to the head. But I won't know for sure until we do some further testing. You may come with me and see her briefly."

Kathy wasn't ready to see her. Not until she digested all of the information she had just

received.

"It won't do any good. I don't know her, and she doesn't know me—or anything else, it seems. I won't disturb her until after you've done what you feel is necessary."

"Fine. I just need to know that you understand the gravity of the situation. Someone has violently abused this woman."

Kathy understood perfectly. She realized that the man was doing his job and from the looks and sounds of things around her, he was very busy. Everybody was busy. More and more people were coming into the emergency room. The waiting area was so crowded, only standing room remained. What in the world was going on? She'd find out soon enough. Right now, she needed to take responsibility for Jessica and clear up any misconceptions this doctor might have about her brother.

"I will cover all of her expenses. And let me assure you that my brother would never do anything like this. I don't know my sister-in-law and I don't know where she's been or who could have done this to her, but it wasn't my brother."

The doctor nodded, barely concealing his skepticism.

"Well, if you would just have a seat in the waiting area, I'll get started, and as soon as she is conscious again, we'll come for you."

He turned and walked through the double doors. Kathy walked toward the overflowing waiting area and noticed immediately that everyone's eyes were glued to the television screen mounted high on the wall. She looked up too and there, right before her eyes, an airplane flew directly into the North Tower of the World Trade Center; the impact caused the building to burst into flames.

The captions running across the bottom of the screen explained that an apparent terrorist attack had occurred. Kathy watched in horror as an almost identical scene played out with the South Tower. An airplane crashed into the steel structure and ignited an inferno. Smoke billowed from the windows of the floors that had been hit. Glass and steel tumbled to the ground. And to her horror, Kathy realized that people were trying to escape the deadly fire by jumping to their deaths. News reporters were running with their cameramen following them as they tried to tell the world what was happening. Firemen and policemen were running towards the scene, as civilians were desperately trying to get away. Then she watched the South Tower collapsing to the ground as well as the Marriot World Trade Center; the time caption read 9:59 a.m. The North Tower collapsed less than half an hour later, at 10:28 a.m. No one in the room spoke. The reporter's voice fell on every person, as they realized that terror had come to America.

The longer she watched the more anxious she became. Ironically, the South Tower collapsed first even though it was the second to be hit. Was this all? Was another attack planned? Here in New York, or elsewhere? Were they still in danger? She looked around the room: some people were crying, some remained solemn and dumbstruck. Tears quietly streamed down Kathy's face. All of this had happened while she had been sitting at her desk unaware, writing checks to charities.

She moved closer to the crowd, and people made room for her. Watching as the most prominent buildings of the city's skyline disintegrated, falling to the ground like a child's toy, a kindred spirit began to form amongst those waiting at this hospital and at others around the city.

Read more about these characters in my new novel "A False Start" available on Kindle.


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